


i want you so bad (it's driving me mad)

by rinthegreat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Asphyxiation, Edgeplay, M/M, Non-Consensual Breathplay, Non-consensual edgeplay, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Voltron NSFW Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinthegreat/pseuds/rinthegreat
Summary: To his absolute horror, as if whatever it is can read his mind, the shape shifts, lines solidifying into a familiar form. Lance.Is this what you were wishing for, little one?“Get out of my head.”NSFW Week 2017 Day 5: Tricks and Traps





	i want you so bad (it's driving me mad)

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by [thislittlekumquat](http://thislittlekumquat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> last one for nsfw week! once again please mind the tags. these are some of the darkest fics i've ever written and i don't want anyone triggered. (so please also let me know if i missed any triggers!) click the notes below to see what the original alien is about in case you're worried.

Okay, so maybe splitting up the team had been a stupid idea. Keith’s willing to admit that now. He should’ve listened to Lance, but instead he insisted that this mission would be easy, and that everything would go faster and smoother if they took different routes.

And now, he’s stuck without his helmet and Bayard.

His foot is trapped, ankle deep in a thick mud that he can’t get free from, while bits of his armor lay strewn across the ground. The thing is, it hadn’t even been an enemy that got him in this position – just his own negligence.

Keith sighs, dropping his head. Before, had he been stuck and in danger, he could’ve relied on his connection with Red. Helmet or no helmet, she would’ve been able to get to him or at least send out a message to the rest of the team.

Now, though, is different. His connection with Red is weaker, if it’s even there at all anymore. And even if it were, he wouldn’t want to push it; she’s been bonding with Lance, and he’s not going to risk interfering. He and Black are a completely different story. The black lion has accepted him, or so it appears at least, but it feels different. Less certain than he and Red had been.

So instead, he’s stuck here, with his foot in the mud, regretting his decision to separate the team.

In a few hours, the team will realize he’s gone missing. They’ll get in their lions and scan the area they knew he was covering, and he’ll be found and let out. It’s not life threatening, and he’s not really concerned that he won’t make it out.

He just feels like an idiot.

Something foreign tickles on the edge of his consciousness, an amusement that isn’t his own. Keith’s hair stands on end, goosebumps forming under what armor he has left. He whips his head around, looking to see what – who – is causing it, but he’s met with nothing. Just the sight of the forest around him and the lake in front of him.

Regardless, his skin prickles with the distinct feeling of being watched.

His fingers twitch, itching to grab his Bayard. Fuck. “Who’s there?” He asks, forcing strength into his voice. As if he were in control at all. “Show yourself.”

Silence.

The amusement grows larger, poking against his mind. He could swear he hears laughter, soft and distant, and yet right next to him.

Keith half flips around, moving as far as his immobile leg will allow. “Come out here where I can see you!”

_Oh but you can’t see us, little one_.

A voice fills his mind, flooding every fiber of his being. It’s as if it’s in surround sound, echoing with the force of a hundred people, chanting in unison.

“Where are you?!” He shouts, hysteria revealing itself.

The laughter grows, bouncing off the walls of his mind, and something like a shape forms in front of him. Transparent and constantly shifting.

_There is no need to yell_.

Keith wishes, more than even before, that he had listened to Lance. That someone else were there to help him out. That he wouldn’t have to deal with this alone.

To his absolute horror, as if whatever it is can read his mind, the shape shifts, lines solidifying into a familiar form. Lance.

_Is this what you were wishing for, little one?_

“Get out of my head.”

Not-Lance glides forward, feet not even touching the ground. Keith flinches back, forgetting momentarily that he’s stuck. He’s given a painful reminder when his leg doesn’t give and he crashes to the ground with an ‘ooph’.

He sucks in a breath as Not-Lance hovers over him. The creature waves its hand and the resistance around Keith’s ankle disappears. He looks down; the mud’s gone.

Immediately, he pulls his foot back before it can get stuck again. “Who are you?”

_We are the_ Irluh _, the inhabitants of this planet_.

Keith wracks his mind but can’t recall hearing about these creatures. According to Coran, this planet should be uninhabited by intelligent beings.

Laughter fills his mind again. _Intelligent beings? Is that what you consider yourself, little one?_

His own irritation flares, flanked with the uneasy feeling that hasn’t gone away since he felt the presence earlier. But Keith tells himself to calm down. They did save him from the mud. He should be a diplomat, the way a paladin of Voltron is supposed to be. “Thank you for freeing me,” he grumbles, sitting upright. Since he’s made contact with the locals, he figures he can at least ask. “Have you seen any Galra ships around here? We have intel that one might’ve been seen a few” – he wracks his mind for the Altean equivalent but comes up with nothing – “days ago.”

_Galra? You are the only Galra we’ve seen_.

“Maybe it was on another continent. Are there…people like you there too?”

_You misunderstand. We are the creatures of this planet._

“And you didn’t see any Galra at all?” Keith asks, massaging his temple. Communicating like this is challenging, to say the least.

Not-Lance tilts its head. _Why are you so curious about these Galra? Do you not have other things on your mind?_ A flash of images play out behind his eyes, things he’s kept locked in the back of his mind: Lance writhing under him, chest flushed in red. Lance, naked and wanting, as he taunts Keith. Lance, holding him down as he makes Keith _beg_ for it.

“Stop,” Keith demands, forcibly banishing the thoughts from his mind. “That’s not what I came here for.”

Not-Lance leans down, face sharper, more feral than before, even as it flickers. _But your reactions are so **delicious**_.

Keith barely has a chance to register the change of tone before he’s flung through the air. As far as he can tell, nothing is physically holding him, but that doesn’t stop his arc, and it doesn’t stop him from crashing into the lake. The only mercy is that he hit water instead of solid ground.

He struggles upright, grabbing for his Bayard before he remembers that he was an idiot; it’s still in the exact same spot as before. Along with his helmet. Fuck.

He makes out the back of Not-Lance, lines shimmering before it vanishes. The strands pull apart into nothingness, and Keith is left sitting in the shallow water, looking around with wide eyes. He can’t fight an enemy he can’t see.

That doesn’t stop him from scrambling up. He manages two strides before an invisible force hits him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He collapses back, sinking under the water. Keith pushes upward and sucks in a painful breath before he’s tugged down and back, further into the lake.

He struggles, but it’s a losing battle. He can thrash as much as he wants, but that doesn’t slow his descent into the depths of the water. He can’t even tell where the force is coming from, just that he’s moving. It seems more like –

It’s the water.

Laughter sounds around him, outside his ears this time.

_Very clever, little one. Perhaps they weren’t wrong in making you their leader._

Memories. Lance declaring Keith would be the worst leader ever. Accusing Keith of lying. Wanting the position for himself.

He chokes, spots forming in front of his eyes. Some of the pressure disappears, light shining down on him from what looks like a funnel, a separation of the water. Keith risks it, sucking in a breath. Oh god. Oh thank god. He gets a second breath in before the pressure returns, the water rushing to fill the void again.

_No,_ he thinks desperately, fighting to get to the surface. Water has never been his strength. He’s not Lance.

_Do you miss this one?_ The voice asks, bubbles forming in the shape of Lance. _Do you wish he were the one here, holding you captive?_

_No_ , he wants to say, but nothing but bubbles escapes his mouth when he opens it. They shift over, joining the shape of Lance and curling themselves into his smirk.

A stream of water, heavier than the rest, surges out, grasping around his throat in the shape of fingers. He already can’t breathe, but now his throat is closed up, windpipe crushing under the pressure.

Darkness pokes into his vision again, unconsciousness threatening to overcome him, but a bubble, larger than the others, surrounds him. At the same time, the pressure around his neck disappears, and Keith manages to suck in a hard breath. “Stop…” He chokes, coughing. “Please…”

The bubble disappears, leaving him helpless in the water again. _You want this_ , the voice echoes around him. His mind is betraying him, because it’s starting to sound like Lance. _You need this_.

The oxygen deprivation must be getting to him too, because the bubbles are solidifying in their shape. Soon, Lance is floating in front of him, hair floating around him, smirk permanently etched on his lips. Keith opens his mouth to beg him to stop (don’t stop) please but inhales water instead. He splutters, choking, as another bubble appears around him, giving him enough air to clear his throat.

Then it’s gone again.

“It’s sick, what you want from me,” Lance’s voice echoes around them. “You know that, right Keith?”

He knows, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. Doesn’t stop how _much_ he wants it. He would beg, all shred of dignity gone, but he can’t even open his mouth to breathe without Lance’s permission.

“Do you want to breathe, Keith?” Lance asks, as if reading his mind. His hips twitch. Lance doesn’t say his name enough, he thinks. Always says _hey man_ or calls him by insulting nicknames. Lance smirks, teeth razor sharp as he leans in. “You like that, _Keith_?” He drags out the ‘e’, taunting him. Keith lets out a whimper, losing the last of his oxygen.

Lance waves his hand, and for a moment the world goes blurry around him. “Very well,” he says. “Breathe.”

Keith sucks in the air like it’s the last time he ever will, the last breath he’ll ever take. It may as well be, because the oxygen is gone again before he can fully recover. His head feels strangely light, and despite the predatory way Lance is watching him, Keith is smiling.

He could probably die right now, and he’d be happy.

“Oh no, I won’t kill you,” Lance tells him, moving closer fluidly. “This is too _delicious_.” He growls when he says it, guttural and low, his voice echoing as if a thousand Lances are there, controlling Keith.

His hips jerk against whatever’s holding him in place, helplessly searching for friction. Something cold and wet slips inside his paladin suit, brushing past the sensitive area of his thigh. A shiver goes straight up his spine, and Keith’s mouth drops open automatically.

He chokes.

The world gets fuzzy again as he coughs and sucks in air. Once he’s recovered enough to make out Lance’s shape in front of him again, the oxygen’s gone, his mouth slammed shut. “Keep your mouth shut until you finish,” Lance instructs.

Keith nods mutely.

“Good.” He twitches again, wanting – no, needing – release. “First it’s insults, now it’s compliments? My, my. You are interesting, aren’t you?”

Something almost like fingers trail down his face. “Show me what you want, Keith.”

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to _show_ Lance when he’s literally at his mercy, but Keith’s mind flashes to all the things he wants from Lance, for Lance. How he just wants to see Lance smile and joke around again. How he wants to be the one to do it. How he could be so _good_ for Lance if he could have the chance.

How Lance believes in him sometimes. How he’d called Keith out when he messed up before, but that’s been happening less. How much he wants Lance to see him as a good leader.

Lance doesn’t have to say anything for the last thought to undo him. The heat pooled low in his stomach gets lit on fire at the same time the remaining oxygen in his lungs is expelled. Lance’s face is purely carnal, the last thing Keith sees as his vision goes black.

\---

He wakes up, coughing and spluttering. Keith turns over, fingers digging into the ground beneath him as he hacks all the water out of his lungs. He’s dripping wet, turning the dirt beneath him to mud.

For a moment, he lays there, confused and disoriented. Then the memories come back.

Being stuck. The strange creature that spoke in his mind. Drowning. Getting off to a hallucination of Lance.

Keith bolts upright, looking around himself.

The forest around him is still, not a breath of wind fluttering through the leaves. He can see the sinkhole he’d gotten stuck in, his helmet and Bayard a few feet away. A quick mental assessment doesn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary with his body – aside from the remaining come not washed out with the water.

He gets to his feet, trying not to think about how much time has passed.

Keith’s legs are wobbly as he makes his way to the rest of his equipment. He grabs his Bayard first, the handle a comforting weight in his grasp. He gives the sinkhole a wide berth as he grabs his helmet, pulling it on.

Everyone’s going nuts.

“Keith?”

“Hey this isn’t funny, dude.”

“Pidge, I need you to scan for him.”

“Keith?! Buddy?!”

“Hey, guys. Sorry about that.” He winces at the shouts that greet his words.

“What the actual quiznak are you playing at?” Lance snaps.

He shifts his weight, glancing back at the lake. Under no circumstances does he want anyone else coming near this place. “Sorry, I dropped my helmet while I was looking around.”

The flimsy excuse seems to placate the rest of the team at least, but he still catches the huff that means Lance doesn’t buy it.

“Look,” he says before they can ask any more questions, “I think the intel about Lotor being here was wrong. We need to move on.”

“Copy that,” Allura responds, voice crisp. “Shiro, Coran, prepare the castle for a jump.”

Keith switches off the comms, letting out a sigh of relief. They’re going to get out of here, and he’s going to make a note in the log that they’ll never, ever come back to this planet.

A shiver runs up his spine as he makes his way back to the black lion, and he hears something like laughter follow him.

**Author's Note:**

> original alien: pretends to be lance to get keith off and feed on his emotions.
> 
> [tumblr](https://rinthegreat.tumblr.com/)   
>  [stalk my work (drabbles, previews, updates)](https://rinthegreat.tumblr.com/tagged/cat-writes-fanfiction)


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